Assassins & Tiaras
by dysprositos
Summary: After Loki and the Battle of Manhattan, Clint became obsessed with reality television and bad pop music. It gave him something to hate that wasn't himself, and well, what more could he ask for?


**Warnings: none!**

**My beta, irite, is fantastic.**

**This is basically an explanation of this headcanon I have, where Clint is obsessed with pop culture.**

**Please note, this story pokes fun at: reality television, pop music, Twilight, and the 'movie night' trope. Please don't get offended, I'm just playing.**

**I do not own The Avengers**.

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"Look," Clint said irritably in response to the myriad of eyerolls he was receiving, "I know it's fucking stupid. I know that. But fucking stupid helps me stop _thinking_, and if I can stop thinking for five goddamn seconds..."

He trailed off, well aware that he'd said too much, had let too much slip. He wasn't supposed to talk about it. He was _supposed _to pretend like everything was fine and dandy, as if, since Loki, his own thoughts _hadn't_ devolved into an endless shrieking cacophony of incoherence that he had the privilege of being tuned into 24/7.

Mostly, he was successful at it. Mostly, he didn't let it show, didn't let them know.

There were cracks in his facade, sure. But they were small enough that anyone with even a mild desire to avoid an awkward feelings-fest could ignore them without compunction.

The Avengers were good people. Really. But no one could blame them for wanting to avoid an awkward feelings-fest. Who wouldn't?

So they ignored the cracks.

And while they did that, Clint found ways to fix the cracks, or, at least, to hide them.

He tried drinking, first, because that was obvious and easy. And Stark had a seriously immense stash; he wouldn't be able to drink all of that in a lifetime. But then a sparring match with Natasha went badly awry due to a hangover and, well, his ego needed him to shape the fuck up.

He didn't mind losing to her. That happened about two-thirds of the time. Just losing _that badly _sucked_._

So Clint tried different avenues. Meditation with Bruce, for one. And that went okay, but after a couple of sessions, Clint had to acknowledge that it just wasn't going to work. Meditation left him empty, yeah, but he didn't _need_ emptiness. It was way, way too easy to let that emptiness fill with memories of a harsh blue light, to fill with a cold voice, always repeating, 'You have heart.'

That wasn't okay.

The solution was something that Clint only stumbled upon by accident. Alone in his shiny new apartment in Stark Tower one day, contemplating the bottle of Jack Daniel's on the table next to him, he was flipping through the 900 channels he now had access to.

And he somehow ended up watching a show called "Toddlers & Tiaras."

Within half an hour, he'd been hooked.

Not because he gave a shit about children's beauty pageants, or children in general, or really any aspect of the show.

He was hooked because it was fucking stupid.

And that was its main attraction. Its only attraction, actually. It was fucking stupid. It required no real thought or effort to watch. There wasn't really much there to process.

When Phil had been alive (and that was a landmine Clint wasn't going to go _anywhere_ near, thank you very much) he'd talked about this benefit several times. Clint had made fun of him for it, for the stodgy agent's love of...Supernanny.

But since he wasn't thinking about Phil, didn't want to think at all, really, Clint just avoided any of the shows his former handler had preferred and went along his merry, vapid, shallow way.

Because he was nowhere near ready to rip that bandaid off yet.

When the show was over, Clint was no longer plagued by his own thoughts, wasn't being dragged under by guilt and despair. And he wasn't empty, either. He was disgusted. And annoyed. And actually, kind of angry.

It gave him something to hate that wasn't himself, and well, what more could he ask for?

He delved into reality television with gusto.

That wasn't enough, though, and soon he saw he was going to have to take it further.

After reality television, then, came pop music. He found himself tuning his radio to the most obnoxious, poppy stations he could find. Listening to that kind of crap was annoying enough that, even during long drives in the car, he couldn't stop thinking about how much he wished he was listening to _anything else_.

It didn't leave him any time to feel guilty at all, no time to dwell on the past, no time to hate himself, or plot revenge, or wallow.

And maybe, _maybe_ it could be viewed as some kind of masochistic atonement thing. But given what he _thought _he deserved, the steady diet of reality TV and pop music he was feeding himself wasn't punishment. Not really.

It really was just a distraction. A really fucking annoying distraction.

For weeks, he filled his free time with the pursuit of irritation. He gritted his teeth through hours of Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj, Ke$ha (and how awful was it that he knew that there should be a dollar sign in her name?). He rolled his eyes through Toddlers & Tiaras, Jersey Shore, and Teen Mom, raging internally at the morons who wound up on those shows. It drove him absolutely fucking nuts.

So much so that he couldn't focus on the fact that he _was_ absolutely fucking nuts. Thoughts of Loki, of what he'd done under Loki's control, were, for the most part, banished from his mind. And maybe it wasn't normal to be so annoyed all the time, but given his alternatives? He'd take it. It was a solution. It worked.

Except for days like today.

Today had been Clint's first mandated appointment with Psych Services. It had taken SHIELD almost two months to get their shit in order, but they finally had, and now Clint had to show up at Dr. Fuckface's office twice a week for what seemed like the rest of eternity.

Starting today. And _all_ they'd talked about, for the whole hour, was Loki.

Now, after that miserable endeavor, Clint was ready to not think. Except it was Thursday. Which meant it was movie night. And it was absolutely, 100% forbidden for any Avenger to ever miss movie night. This was actually something Stark had gotten into contracts, somehow, that he'd then managed to get everyone to sign—no doubt as part of his ongoing effort to be as annoying as humanly possible.

There _was_ a clause outlining exceptions applicable in the case of emergency or injury, but Clint didn't really think his situation counted. Especially since movie night was supposedly going to _help_ with the team's collective 'issues.' Bonding and shit. Getting them used to each other.

He couldn't use his 'issues' to escape.

So he did the next best thing, and suggested a movie that he knew would allow him to stop thinking altogether.

And looking around at the rest of the team, he knew he was going to get his way. They all looked a little bit uneasy, like him bringing up his cracked psyche was kind of unwelcome, like it was something they wished they could just make go away.

The easiest way to make it go away was to do what Clint wanted.

Tony, though, couldn't help but protest. "Barton. You can't be serious. Twilight is..." he shrugged helplessly, like he couldn't decide what insult, of all his possible options, he wanted to hurl at the movie.

Natasha looked equally disgusted with Clint's choice, but she put a brave face on and said, "No, I think Clint's right. It'll be good for us to, um. Relax. Besides, last week Banner made us watch The Fountain and I thought that was a little...heavy. Something lighter will be...nice." She grimaced before offering Clint a half-smile.

Well, he could always count on Nat to have his back, even when she clearly wasn't happy about it.

After a moment, Bruce nodded his slow agreement. Steve and Thor seemed indifferent, their pop culture knowledge insufficient to warn them of what horror was ahead of them. Tony heaved a sigh and agreed, "Fine. Whatever. But I reserve the right to mock both you and the movie endlessly, Legolas."

Clint shrugged. "Whatever." It was two hours that he wasn't going to have to think during, and hopefully the movie would be annoying enough to keep him distracted for even longer. It seemed like a pretty good deal to him. "Get the popcorn."

Tony scoffed. "Yeah, no. I'm watching this teenage drama bullshit, you can get your own damn popcorn."

So Clint did. He even made enough for everyone else.

Even Tony.

And that's how the Avengers ended up watching Twilight.

(Don't tell anyone, but they liked it enough to watch the rest of the series, too.)

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**Thanks for reading!**

**Review if you're feeling charitable.**


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